Where I live you have to take a course when you get a DUI. I’m sure that’s common in liberal democracies. In corrupt or authoritarian nations you can probably just bribe the police or judge.
In Canada we have provinces and for years mine had the highest DUI ratio per capita. At least we were number one at something. Now the title belongs to P.E.I, which is also known for growing potatoes.
***
My DUI, which I’m ashamed of, was lame and avoidable. But I didn’t hit a person, animal, or even a house like Billy Joel. I love Joel and his music so he can take that hit. Instead, I got caught a few blocks from home (statistically that’s normal) when I drove through a red light. There was a cop car RIGHT behind me so maybe I was drunker than I thought.
Ironically, he was the nicest cop I’ve dealt with. One swore at me for missing a sign and another threw my expired paper registrations on the side of the road. Others gave me attitude when they’ve come into my bar. While cops have been nice to me two-thirds of the time, that’s not a good ratio for people who represent justice and answer to civil society.
To be clear I deserved my DUI, I’m generally pro-cop, and have little empathy with those who ALWAYS bash them. But it’s a public and scrutinized position, and any bartender and server who constantly piss off a third of their customers are fired. But the cop who caught me that night was polite, professional, and I’d have a beer with him anytime (and NOT drive home).
The rest of the night was typical for a fool caught drinking and driving. I was taken downtown and refused to take a breathalyzer test until I called my cousin’s wife, who was a lawyer. I’ve always felt terrible for waking her up at 2:30 am, but it was my only chance. To her credit, she wasn’t pissed off, gave me good advice, and she’s never judged me or brought up that moment. Ironically enough, I gave her my drink tickets for some event the next time we met.
Needless to say, I had to take the breathalyzer test, failed it worse than my German final, and they called my mom to pick me up. At first they called my roommate but he had fallen asleep or passed out drunk. Having my mom, who initially thought the police called to say her son had died, showing up crying to drive me home, wasn’t my proudest moment.
A few months later I was in court. My lawyer, who dropped the ball on many things (despite getting $5000 from me) at least did well on judgement day. Given I hadn’t hit anything, had no prior record, and her lying about me going to university at the time, the price was merciful. I got a $2000 fine, a blow box in my car (that fucked up my battery), and had to take the dreaded DUI course. It wasn’t my finest hour and I told my parents to stay home that day. They wanted to be there to support me, but sometimes you need to do the worse things in life alone.
***
Which leads us to the first day of the course. I think I woke up hungover (nobody’s perfect). But to be fair I had no license and was dropped off. The class was in the evening and I was depressed. My consistently loyal mother dropped me off, without a word of criticism. It’s not fun letting good people down… especially when it’s mom.
Anyway, I walked into the rehab centre, or whatever the hell it was, with as much dignity I could muster. While I wasn’t nervous I worried I’d get lost and not get to the room on time. Either they had signs, gave us a map, or I googled it, but I muddled my way to the location.
The building was at least nice and the staff cared about those tragic souls who suffer from addiction. Eventually, I saw a staircase that led to the second floor, with the chamber we’d inhabit during this weekend of court ordered torture and boredom. While I don’t recall much of that day I remember this clearly:
I saw mostly white, middle-aged, working class men (like myself) standing around in confusion. That’s not a judgement, again that’s my demographic, it’s just the truth. But the class would drill into our heads that all segments of society roll the dice with booze and driving.
Eventually a line formed, herding us towards the dreaded class. I reluctantly took my place and accepted the cost of my drunken folly.
A moment later two men came over and almost jokingly asked “is this the line to the DUI class?” I instantly recalled the episode of The Simpsons where Homer runs for sanitation commissioner and tells the guy at city hall “things are gonna change in this town.” Then the clerk said something like “okay, but this is where you register as a sex offender.” A second later Moe the bartender, a god for many cocktail engineers, walks in and says “ah geez, there’s always a line!”
As someone with little patience and who hates lines I suppressed a huge cackle. At least there would be colourful people in the class. But I’d rather not speak about the rest of the weekend, which wasn’t my finest hour. I’ll just say too many people refused to take responsibility, blamed everyone but themselves, while I just wanted to get through it.
The last thing I remember as we left the course and made our way to freedom was an absurd remark I heard from a young man. He turned to some guy and said, without hesitation: “I learned my lesson, next time I won’t get caught.”
No wonder so many people have multiple DUIs!